The Anomaly Project

CHAPTER TWO

NOAH

All I can see is darkness. The heavy, thick kind; the kind of darkness that feels as if it's pushing on your shoulders, weighing down your every step.

There's a sound, a rummaging sound, and the darkness slowly lifts, light and colour seeping in.

I'm standing in the middle of an alley. It's late at night; stars are scattered across the sky. The moon lights the scene. Crumbling, ransacked houses line either side of the gravelly road. Garbage and debris are littered all around me. Then there's the rustling noise again, and I realize I'm not alone.

A boy stands a little distance away, his back to me. There's a large cardboard box sitting near a house, and the boy is kneeling in front of it, digging through whatever is inside. He looks thin, his clothes ragged. When he turns his head, I see that his cheeks are sunken from hunger. I start to step toward him, but I can't move my legs. I can't move any part of my body.

The boy stands up, his arms full of moldy food. He looks to be around my age, maybe a little younger. He has black hair, light brown skin and dark, wary eyes. He scans the alley, looking right at me, but his eyes remain blank. He can't see me.

He clutches the food to his chest and starts to run off down the alley, but a large, meaty hand comes out of nowhere and grabs his shoulder, jerking him back. He lets out a shout of surprise, dropping the food, and whirls around, fists raised.

The large hand is attached to an equally large man, who comes out from behind a ramshackle shed and grabs the collar of the boy's shirt, shoving him against a fence and pushing his forearm up underneath the boy's chin. "Don't even consider trying to fight me," he snaps. "You won't win."

The boy glares at the man and spits in his face. Disgusted, the man slowly wipes the saliva off his nose and clenches his fist. He's about to punch the boy when another voice, smooth and intelligent, interrupts. "Wade, stop."

I can't see who's speaking, but the large man – Wade? – relaxes reluctantly. The boy's eyes grow wide and paranoid, darting around frantically. He can't see the speaker either.

The smooth voice continues. "He's got some spirit in him. Take him in. We could use him."

"How?" Wade asks, keeping his arm up against the boy's throat. "We're already getting those two new specimens. What do we need another one for?"

"Oh, something always comes up," the voice replies. Even though I can't see the speaker, I already dislike him. He has an undertone of mocking and superiority whenever he talks, like he believes he's better than whoever he's addressing.

The boy struggles. "Let me go! What'd I do to you?"

"Shut up," Wade grumbles. "I'm taking you in."

"Taking me in where? What gives you the right to take me anywhere?"

"You ask too many questions," Wade replies, and swings his fist hard at the boy's face. There's a bright flash, and the darkness returns.

Breathing hard, I jolt upwards in bed. Sweat beads my upper lip.

That didn't feel like a dream. It was too realistic, and I can remember every detail of it. But what else could it have been?

I didn't recognize the boy or the large man - Wade. And I'm pretty sure I've never heard that other voice before.

So why am I having dreams about people I've never met?